FortyEight Days, Hours, Minutes, Seconds
by Kaz Gemcity
Summary: What does the number forty-eight mean to Fiona? How did she feel after Michael left? What did she do about it? What choice did Michael make? How does he fell about it now? How do all these questions tie together? More Mike/Fi fluff
1. Intro

_**A/N- This is a kinda dark piece. I hope you like it. Let me know.**_

Fiona stood up. It had been exactly forty-eight hours since I left. Two days on the minute. Not that she was counting, not that I was counting. _It's time to get this party started._ Fiona thought grimly to herself, pulling out a shiney blade. She took one last look around the room. A last look at her dilberate set up. She had done it that way on porpuse. The crisp white sheets. Her thin, white night gown, with the thin straps. It was all for me, and the thing was, I deserved it.

It was forty-eight seconds later when Fi made the first cut on her leg. The blood stained her sheets. The blood stained her gown. Just the way she planned it. Another forty-eight seconds went by before Fiona made a second insion, above the first one, on her left leg. With forty-eight seconds between each swipe of the blade, Fi ended with twelve slashes on her left leg.

Another forty-eight went by and Fi started on her other leg. Twelve cuts later, and Fiona's sheets were stained red through. Her gown was ruined. In the time between the cuts, she thought about me. We had been together for forty-eight days. It had been forty-eight hours since I left.

Fi made the first cut on her left arm.

Fi made the last cut on her left arm.

Fiona made the first cut on her right arm.

Only eleven left.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

And then she was done. Blood was everywhere. It was all my fault. Fiona passed out.

It was, ironically, forty-eight minutes later when Sean found her, blood pooling and drying on the bed.

He called me, as if somehow I could come back and make everything better. I, of course, ignored the call.

But when I did listen to my messages, I had tears running down my face.

Fiona had hurt herself because I left her. There was nothing I wanted more, just then, to rush back to her. To take her and hold her in my arms and to never let go. But that wasn't an option right now. I left her behind. I left the job behind. It was done. I was done. I took my phone and threw it into the ocean in front of me.

Then I walked away.

I walked away and left Fiona behind.

My name is Michael Westen and that was the worst mistake of my life.

But you probably already know this, I know that I do.


	2. Days

**_A/N- I decided to continue this, though it was only supposed to be a oneshot. I am glad everyone liked it. Sorry for the creepiness and darkishness. I hope you still like it._**

I never believed in true love. I never believed in love at first sight. But when I met Fiona, all of that changed. She turned me into someone that I wasn't before. A person who believed that love was possible.

We were together for forty-eight days. Days that I would never forget.

I still think about those days.

What happened in that time could never be repeated, no matter how much time I spend apart from her. It has been two days since I left and Fiona's actions brought it all back. But it brought back more than that. It brought back the guilt that I thought I had smothered. I told myself that I was doing what was best for her. That I was protecting her from the people who come after me. But with her actions, she proved me wrong. I wasn't protecting her, I was hurting her, and that hurt me more than anything else.

The first time we met, I almost lost my hand. I had been following Fi around for days, in atempt to find the best time to approach her. When I did approach her, it was after she made me, waving at my hiding spot in the bushes outside her favorite coffee shop. I stood slowly and stepped nimbly out of the roses, pretending that I had not been spying on an Irish IRA operative. She looked me over.

"And who are you?" Fiona demanded in a light Irish accent, watching me brush dirt of my tan Armani suit. I considered my answer quickly.

"Michael McBride." I informed her, laying on a thick accent of my own for good measure. Fi extended her hand to me, and I almost took it, before I noticed the C4 she planned on using to rid me of one of my extremities. I drew my hand back slowly.

"That is not very nice." I told her, a grin on my face dispite my best effort. She smiled back at me.

"I know." She tossed the explosives into the trash, and pulled me away from the cafe. That was the first night we spent together. Followed by forty-seven more full of fights, guns, sex, and love. It was fun.

When I had to end it, it was like cutting off the hand Fi first seemed intent on removing.


	3. Hours

**_A/N- Wow this took a long time to get up. Sorry for that, I have been really busy with my other stories, work, school, sports, ect. You know the drill. Blah, blah, blah, I am going to continue with the story now._**

Forty-eight hours.

A long time to some people. Certainly to me, recently. That is how long it has been. I wonder if it has been so long to her. Has she felt each second tick by and felt a piece of her soul, of her heart, fly away with it. I know I have.

When Shawn called me, almost forty-eight hours after I left, on the dot, at least be my counting, I almost answered. I wanted to, believe me I did. But I couldn't. It simply could not happen. I keep telling myself this, but it won't sink in. All I can think, Fiona, don't die. I don't know what I would do if she died.

I have been keeping tabs on her though. I have a contact, who knows Shawn. They are friends. But money can be more powerful than friendship. So this contact spies on her for me.

"They will be able to tell if she's fine in forty-eight hours." He says, right after telling me that she cut herself forty-eight times, that she is in the hospital, room forty-eight.

"Hell of a coincidence, huh, Mikey?" He says, before I punch him in the nose. It begins to bleed, and he falls back from me. I pull him back and lean down to his ear.

"Don't talk about her like that." I hissed in his ear, angrily. Though it wasn't him I was angry at. It was me, he was just easier to vent on. I turned away from him and got my feelings under control. It was harder now than it had ever been before. Even when Frank was slapping me around, it had been easy to pretend that it didn't bug me. That I was stronger. But right now, all I wanted to do was go to that hospital, barge into her room and kiss her.

Kiss her and spend forty-eight years together.


	4. Minutes

Do you know how long a minute is? If you said sixty seconds, then you are wrong. One minute can last an hour, a day, a year. A minute can last a lifetime.

I paced outside the hospital in the biting cold air for a minute. I was debating with myself whether or not to go in. It had been against my best judgement to even come here, but I can not bring myself to say that I regretted the choice.

My head snapped up as the doors opened. They had not done that yet. No one had come in, nor had anyone gone out. An old man stopped in front of me. Though I knew nothing about him, I had the feeling that he knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling.

"What do I do?" I asked this stranger, hopelessly lost.

"Do you love her?" He asked simply.

"Yes." I answered, tears stinging behind my eyes.

"Then you do what you have to do." He pulled me down onto the bench next to him, that I had not even noticed. After forty-six minutes I asked him one last question.

"How do you know you made the right choice?" My whispered words. He looked at me with eyes aged with experience.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like hell."

"Then you know that you are taking that pain so that someone else doesn't have to." He told me, standing up and stretching.

"Does that make it the right thing?" I asked again as he began to slowly walk away. He turned an tilted his head toward me.

"What's the difference between right and wrong? Either way someone is getting hurt. But if you can spare someone you love that pain..." He trailed off and crumpled to the ground. I rushed to his side and took his hand into mine.

"If you can spare someone then what?" I asked. When the final second in the forty-eight minutes I had been outside the ugly white hospital, the man died in my arms.

"I love you, Emma. And now I have saved you." I called nine-one-one and sat beside this man's body. When the EMTs arrived. I was told who he was. Michael Evens. He overdosed so that his vital organs could be donated to his wife, Emma.

I stood up briskly and walked away from the hospital. By not seeing Fiona the pain of seeing me for forty-eight minutes, then watching me leave again, I knew that I had done the right thing. It hurt me like hell, but that was pain that she did not have to suffer.


	5. Seconds

**_A/N- I forgot about "seconds" on this one, which was why it is labeled "complete." Sorry about that. This is one of my darker stories, and I'm glad you have kept reading it. I hope you like this last chapter in this story._**

_Forty-three._

_Forty-four._

_Forty-five._

_Forty-six._

Fiona started at the clock, counting the seconds as they ticked by.

With each distinctive _tick_ of the clock she became more and more hopeful that he would show up. Yet she also became more and more sure that he wouldn't.

_Forty-seven._

Fiona knew, somewhere in her mind, that it was stupid of her to expect him to come back. Stupid to think that the numbers and the time had anything to do with it. But she couldn't help herself from hoping.

_Forty-eight._

I was somewhere, as far away from the hospital as I could get in the measly seconds I had. Even running as fast as I could, it wasn't very far.

I didn't even need to look at the clock to known the exact moment that second had hit. It hurt to move in that moment, it hurt to even breath.

My heart was shuttering in my chest, tears flowing down my face.

I would never see Fiona Glenanne again.


End file.
